


McJones, Dean, & the Big Mood

by orphan_account



Category: PBG Hardcore
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wrote a shit thing for the lads in the discord, but hey if ur not from there and just lookin for some ryzabs, ur welcome too man.





	McJones, Dean, & the Big Mood

**Author's Note:**

> Dont judge my boys

*Buzz*

McJones woke to the sound of his phone. He sighed a little, stretched a bit, and grabbed his phone.

Snapchat.

It was from Dean.

McJones opened it to reveal Dean laying in his bed, winking, with the words "Morning motherfucker".

Dean was going to die. McJones was having a great dream.

Unwilling to move from his position, he took a photo of his gross morning face smushed into his pillows, added some text that read "you woke me from my slumber. The penalty is death", and pressed send.  
It had gotten to that point in their friendship that they could send literally anything to each other. McJones clicked off his phone and closed his eyes again, which was short-lived, as only seconds had passed when he got a reply.

"Cutie!!"

Huh…? McJones could feel the heat in his cheeks already. Definitely not the answer he was expecting.  
But he didn't respond. It felt bad not to, but for the sake of his shame, he made the right choice.  
Instead, he just got himself organised for school. He could talk to him there.

 

.:.

 

The swarm of students quickly started to crowd the school grounds. Everyone already separated into their little groups of friends. Yet McJones was yet to find Dean.  
Usually, Dean was easy to find. He could hear him clear as day from the other side of the school, but today was different? Perhaps he didn't come today? Was he sick? Did he have homework due today? Did he-

"BOO!" A familiar voice yelled in his ear, gripping tight on his shoulders.  
McJones swore he jumped, like, 10 feet in the air. Oh my god. That scared the bejeebies out of him!  
"DEAN! Don't EVER do that again!" McJones cried out. But Dean couldn't hear anything over his laughter.

Once he was able to pull himself together, Dean apologised. "My bad, man," he put a hand on his shoulder, "It was the perfect opportunity. I couldn't not take it."  
McJones rolled his eyes and smirked. "Thats fair." 

The two began walking towards their lockers, Dean rambling on about whatever game it was he was playing. But McJones was lost in thought. For some reason, he couldn't take his mind off the reply Dean sent. His chest felt heavy whenever he thought about it.

"… McJones?"  
He turned his head to face Dean "Yes!" He answered confidently, to whatever question he asked.  
"So, you do play Pokkén?"  
"What? No."  
"Wh- then why'd you say yes?"  
"Oh– Is that what you were asking?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh a little. "You're hopeless." He teased. "You looked pretty tense though. What's on your mind?"  
There's absolutely no way he could tell Dean what he was thinking. Or maybe there was? But not now. So he had to lie, and fast.

"Uh– my bad. I'm just kind of worried about my French test this afternoon."  
"You do French?!"  
Uh oh. He's onto him.  
"Yeah. Haven't I ever told you?"  
"I- I guess not! Damn. As if I didn't know that!" He chuckled a bit. 

Oh my sweet Jesus, he bought it.

"But hey, don't worry yourself about it too much! You're really smart, and i'm sure you'll do fine!" Dean smiled.  
And oh my God, that smile.  
French test or not, that smile made his day.

 

.:. 

 

Last period had just wrapped up. All the kids storming out of their classes and down the halls, eager to pop out of this joint.  
The two reunited at the lockers, Dean already had his packed bad slung over his shoulder, ready for the trip home.  
"McJones, hurry so we can get outta this place!"  
He looked like an energetic puppy.

McJones hated to disappoint, but he had other plans. "Sorry, Dean, but I promised myself i'd stay after school and study. I just can't do it at home for some reason."  
Dean groaned. "Booooring!"  
"Yeah, I know."

"Well," Dean sighed, "i'd do what I always insist on doing and tag along, but that just crosses the line into loser territory."  
McJones scoffed. "That's fine by me. I kind of need it to actually be quiet when I study."  
Dean delivered a friendly punch to the arm. "Fuck off!" He laughed.  
"Well, see you tomorrow!" Dean waved, and began to turn the other way.

Just as McJones was about to say goodbye back, Dean called out.

"Seeya, cutie!"

Uh oh. Oh no. Not again.

McJones practically speed-walked the other way, towards the library. He couldn't tell which was pounding harder: his head or his heart?  
He tried not to think about it on his way there; keyword: tried.  
Firs the snapchat incident, now this? McJones didn't know how to feel. Everything felt dizzy and/or hot. 

Surely, he'd feel better after a few hours of studying?

 

.:.

 

He totally didn't. And it only got worse on the bus ride home.

With nothing else to do on a stuffy bus packed with people, McJones pulled out his phone. No snapchats from Dean this time.  
All McJones did was spend a good 5 minuted changing the song he was listening to, before deciding to pull up social media.  
Twitter? Nothing.  
Snapchat? Nothing.  
Instagra– oh… my god.  
Oh.  
My.  
God.

McJones couldn't believe what he was seeing. Right there in front of him, at the very top of his feed, a new post from @deanelazab

The caption read: "trying to look good for once"

But the picture?  
Oh, the picture.

Dean, standing in what looked to be his room, the sunlight beaming through his window and bringing out his features in the best way possible.  
His face seemed to light up, his eyes were shut gently, his lips curled into a subtle smile. One hand seemed to be tucking strands of hair back.

He couldn't look away.

He didn't know what came over him, but he couldn't help but screenshot. It felt wrong, but, what if he deleted it? How would McJones go on?  
He wouldn't, that's how.

Feeling enough warmth in his face, he turned his phone off and decided he would wait until he was in the privacy of his home to look again. He tried to restrain himself as best he could.

Admittedly, the rest of the ride home, his thoughts were centered around a certain someone.


End file.
